


The Reapers have the Phone Box

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Mass Effect
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5019691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The TARDIS lands on the Normandy just after Mars during the events of Mass Effect 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reapers have the Phone Box

“No,” Specialist Traynor gasps as the blue phone box begins to materialize on the CIC. “No, it can't be, can it?” She taps a button on the comm. “Commander? I think there's something you should see...” 

Moments later, Shepard is on the deck, flanked by a pair of marines, bristling with weaponry. 

“Ah, hello,” says the gangly stranger poking his head out of the door. Laser aiming sights flicker across the rough tweed of his jacket. “Is this a bad time? Because I could just—”

“Unless that sentence ends with the words 'explain how I boarded the most advanced ship in the Alliance navy without being detected,' then no, you can't.” Shepard snaps. 

“For God's sake, don't shoot,” Traynor pleads, almost hysterical. “He's here to help!” 

Shepard turns to the young specialist with a dubious glint in her eyes. “Friend of yours, Traynor?” she asks gruffly. 

“I'm afraid I only know him by reputation,” she admits. “Perhaps we could discuss this matter more privately?” 

“Hell of a thing to ask.”

“Would this be a bad time to point out that I'm not armed and not trying to do anything to take over your ship? It's just, you know, the guns and all?”

Shepard ignores him. “We'll do this in the war room. EDI, page James and Liara.”

“Affirmative, Commander.”

“Ooh, you get yours to talk back to you?” the Doctor says. He dashes over to the nearest console, heedless of the guards, who merely blink, and inhales deeply. “Is that an actual AI?” he asks. “Very impressive, nice to meet you.” He dashes back to the box. “Not that she's a patch on you, dear. Right, take me away.” 

*** 2 minutes later ***

“Right, Traynor, what the hell is going on, and why do you know about it?”

“Ma'am, this is the Doctor. Former British Intelligence—you hear things.” She blushes. “And even just growing up in London, you see things. No offense, marm, you're brilliant and all, but when it comes to saving planets, this man makes you look like a rank amateur.”

Shepard raises an auburn eyebrow. “He's twelve.”

“Hundred,” the Doctor appends politely. 

“That's an impressive span, even for an asari,” Liara breathes. The gleam in her eye which Shepard recognizes to mean “I should very much like to conduct all kinds of invasive tests on you, up to and including your complete dismemberment, purely out of professional and scientific interest—nothing personal, you understand” has returned, and Shepard lays a subtle hand on her girlfriend's shoulder.

“Yeah, whatever,” James snorts. “If this guy helps us get Earth back, I don't give a shit how old he is.”

“What's wrong with Earth?” the Doctor asks. He's left the Ponds home for the weekend and hasn't been keeping tabs on the planet.

“You really don't know?” Shepard asks. “Traynor, maybe you could fetch us some tea? I feel like it could be a long afternoon.”

“And some Jammy Dodgers?” the Doctor adds hopefully.

*** 10 Minutes Later ***

“So,” the Doctor says, pacing back and forth while dipping an inferior sort of biscuit with no jam whatsoever in a mixture which was approximately equal parts tea and honey, “you're telling me that a race of evil metal aliens who believe that they are the pinnacle of existence have decided to wipe out the rest of civilization while perverting some of them into their slaves, the powers in charge are dithering and fighting amongst themselves, which means that the only resources that I have to stop a mysterious yet diabolical scheme (which just so happens to center around the city of London for reasons no-one is quite clear on) are a feisty redhead, a sexy archaeologist who's older than she looks--” “--watch it--” “--a warrior with self-esteem issues, and an incredibly powerful ship with a mind of its own.” By the time he finishes the biscuit has dissolved into the tea-and-honey. His nose wrinkles and he drops the remaining fragments into the cup before draining it, crumbs and all.

“That about covers it,” Shepard says, suspicious of his good mood.

The Doctor yawns. “Sounds like a pretty typical week,” he concludes with ease.

“If you were a woman, I'd be fluttering my eyelashes at you,” Traynor informs him, making the Time Lord blush.

*** 35 Minutes Later ***

“You did it,” Shepard says dumbly. “I...I can't believe it. The Reapers...they're gone.”

“Look,” the Doctor tells her, “I'm sure you would have managed something in the end—you humans are awful resourceful. And there's really nothing to be ashamed of—I've been doing this since you lot were still huddling together in caves for warmth...from a non-linear point of view, anyway...” He coughs. “And at any rate, there's still the genophage to cure, war between the geth and the quarians to stop, and Cerberus to sort out, and I really must be off.” He waves with one hand. “Very nice to meet all of you; sorry for laughing at you when you told me your profession, Dr. T'Soni.” With a final beaming grin, he slips back inside the TARDIS, and is gone with a whoosh and a whirl.

“So, that just happened,” Shepard half-asks, half-says.

“Yes, I believe it did,” Liara reassures her.

“Fuck,” Shepard pronounces. She looks over at Traynor, who is still a bit starry-eyed about the whole ordeal. “Well, you heard the man: plenty still to do.”


End file.
